Celebrating his idea of Valentine's Day
by Zora Arian
Summary: Toby isn't feeling so well, so when an idiot - aka that particular someone who knows her work schedule and whose voice she could recognise a mile off - comes booming banging on her front door, she answers it with her best glare. Sherlolly Valentine's Day Fic-A-Thon 2014; for my Valentine just-mindy!


I've managed to write after such a long time ; A ;

Anyway – this is for the _Sherlolly Valentine Day's Fic-A-Thon_, made by _broomclosetkink_ over on Tumblr. I don't celebrate V-Day, but I would like to write something for someone because _**SHERLOLLY**_, and I'd like to slowly make my way back into writing as well. My secret Valentine is **just-mindy** over at Tumblr, formerly known as _cutepet66_; I was nervous a little because I want to write her something decent (I read the stuff she wrote and they were so gooood…), and I hope this is something to her liking; I'm sorry if this is too long on the narrative side -_- (I wish I could squeeze in some hot damn kiss or something, but I didn't want it to be OOC because after a hot damn kiss things will become more hot damn and I don't know how to proceed after that :/)

Just a bit of an advance apology – I don't know how pet medication looks like, whether they are administered to the pet through syringes by the vets themselves or have them take small granules of medication, but here I'm putting it as the second one. This little thing is set after series 2, but there's no Tom (too much complications if I do :/).

I still hope you like this little ball of fluff for you, **just-mindy ***hides face* Happy Valentine's Day! :DDD

* * *

Relaxing on her sofa one warm afternoon, Molly Hooper flipped the page of the book she held in one hand; after turning the page, her other hand went back to where its previous position on Toby's head was and resumed stroking him behind his ear. Toby caught the flu just a day ago, and his anxious owner fretted over him for more than two hours – after being given medication and advice from a rather bossy veterinarian a few blocks away (more like a city away; the long journey to there made Molly nervous as Toby continued to sneeze, and she was not even the one sick), Molly immediately fussed over him. She frantically called Mike Stamford when she got home and informed him of her situation – Mike merely chuckled and granted her the afternoon and next day off, knowing that Molly herself deserved a break anyway from work, and wished Toby a full recovery.

It could not be said that the cat himself enjoyed being taken care of, though – Toby mewled in protest almost every second that Molly was near him, waving his tail angrily every time she petted him and asked him whether he was okay, whether he needed some more drink, or did he want his catnip now or later? Molly ignored him and his attempts at getting her off his tail – she insisted on watching him at every moment, making sure nothing bad was going to happen; the last thing she wanted was her only companion leaving her, and she was not ready to say goodbye just yet.

That led them to lying down on her sofa the next day, with Toby curled up and resting on her stomach, still sick and lethargic. Molly lowered down her book to take a glance at her cat and, seeing that he was sleeping, let out a small smile. With his black-and-white glossy coat (courtesy of Molly's constant care) and piercing blue-green eyes, Toby reminded her of someone with a strikingly similar appearance and, dare she say, disposition; eventhough Toby could be hyper around people he was familiar to, just like any other cat he also preferred to be alone and at times would brood around in a corner of her flat.

She chuckled lightly at the mental image of that someone she had in mind brooding in a corner (because from what she saw of his personality, it was something he was likely to do at home, if not on a daily basis), her stomach moving in time with her laugh – the movement woke Toby up and he gave a little frown at his owner, his sea-green eyes mostly likely questioning her sanity.

"Sorry, Toby," Molly said good-humouredly, stroking her cat on the head as an apology. "Was thinking about your human counterpart, and yeah – he's about as much of a cat as you are, actually!"

Toby merely let out a soft mewl and, wrinkling his nose, settled once more on her stomach.

_**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**_

Toby, scared out of his wits at the loud knocks, immediately jumped out of his position on Molly's stomach and scurried away into her bedroom, his agility hampered slightly due to his condition. Molly groaned loudly as she watched her cat run away; it took her more than two hours that morning to coax him out of her bedroom because of his condition and get him to relax with her on the sofa and now this- this idiot outside, with all his booming banging against her wooden front door, scared her cat away!

"MOLLY! OPEN UP!"

Great – now there was a name for the idiot with his booming banging against her front door; she could recognise that voice from a mile away, even with earmuffs on.

Stomping her way to her door, Molly yanked her door open and gave the idiot at the other side of the threshold her best glare; Sherlock Holmes pocketed the hand he knocked with and raised an eyebrow at her expression. "Afternoon glare not gentle to the eyes?" he questioned, staring at Molly's squinty eyes.

"I'm glaring at you!"

"Doesn't look like it, though. You need practice."

"With you around, I'm sure I'll get the practice I need."

Sherlock still kept the eyebrow raised, and Molly could practically hear him deducing everything about her at that moment. However, after a few seconds, he only said, "I seem to have caught you at a wrong time."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"There, there – no need for such crude language, is there?" he smirked, moving forward to enter her abode; instinctively, she moved to the side to grant him access before realising what she had done.

"Oh, please – come in," she muttered sarcastically before closing the door.

* * *

Ever since the business with the Fall, as the media liked to call it, Molly became a different person. Not entirely different, per se – she was still helpful, still told bad jokes, still perspective of another fellow human being's feelings; Molly became more herself around Sherlock – that was the major difference. She was able to show him how she really was whenever she was with the people she loved and cared about; gaining confidence in the process, she could now also hold her own against a frustrated and demanding Sherlock, if her brief time with him in her flat before he had to move on to another country taught her anything. Having also met Mycroft Holmes, the formidable elder brother, and eventually learning that, beneath those thick layers of authority and forced nonchalance, there still laid the heart of a man constantly worried about his brother, she began to see the youngest Holmes as someone who was just that – someone. A man in need of help at that point in time because the people he cared about were in danger; a man wanting to keep them safe. A man who, despite being called many hurtful things by so many people due to his lack of tack in his deductions to the point that they claimed him 'unfeeling' and a machine, held a large heart that he was afraid of showing.

But enough of that, because after that brief visit into her mind with her recalling the progress she had made with Sherlock over the months, it still did not take away the fact that he was here in her home, on her day off (which she knew he knew because he was Sherlock Holmes and of course he would know her work schedule), banging on doors and striding in homes like he was invited in the first place. "Sherlock, I'm sure you know it's my day off today; if you're here to ask for some fingers or a body or anything, I'll personally cut that body part off you and hand it over to you," she warned, following him to her living room where he stood near the armchair nearest to the window.

"And I have no doubt in your threat or ability to do so, Molly," Sherlock replied nonchalantly, eyes roving around her spacious but slightly messy flat. "But surprise – I'm not here because of experiment-related stuff."

Molly eyed him suspiciously, narrowing her brown eyes as she placed a hand on her hip. "You aren't? So it's for a case? Private or otherwise or anything?"

Sherlock turned to her as he disentangled his scarf from around his neck. "What makes you think I came here for a case?" he asked, folding the scarf and then dropping it on the armchair while keeping his eyes trained on hers.

"So it's not?" Molly squeaked. Goddammit, it had been so long since she last became awkward around him, she thought as her cheeks burned under his gaze.

Yeah, Molly became more herself around him, but in the end, the man still had an effect on her.

He gave a brief upturn of his lips before he pulled out his leather gloves from his hands. "Nope," he said, exaggerating the word and popping the 'p' out. "I'm here for a more…personal matter."

Blinking once, then twice, Molly stayed frozen on her spot; Sherlock hummed a tune as he dropped his pair of gloves and disrobed his large Belstaff coat, draping it over the back of the armchair. He took a moment to grimace at the amount of pink the chair had before adjusting his outfit and turning back to Molly. "So!" He clapped his hands together. "Tea?"

The other occupant of the apartment snapped out of her reverie and, having heard what he said, glared at him (practice that glare, girl). "You didn't just come round to ask for tea-"

"Tea, Molly," he said, moving towards her and turning her around, quickly marching her to her kitchen with both hands on her shoulders. "You know how I take it, thanks."

Molly swivelled around quickly, wanting to know what he was up to, but she only got a short glimpse of that taut and firm back of his, clad in a tight white shirt she had noticed (of course she noticed), before he disappeared round the corner. Debating whether to follow him or just stay blissfully ignorant for the moment, she decided on the latter, turning back to the counter and pouring water into the kettle. As she got ready the things she needed, Molly reflected on how…open Sherlock was now after he came back from the 'dead'.

It took John Watson a long while to properly register that Sherlock was indeed back, and was not some hallucination conjured from his mind or a cruel trick being played on him, and an even longer while to forgive him. Molly had faith that they would be together again, though – no one would leave their friends behind, after all. Greg Lestrade was more than happy to see his friend back, especially after all the guilt he had to harbour during Sherlock's two year absence; he saw that the younger man had become more than a great man upon his return – he was also slowly becoming a good one. Mrs Hudson embraced the return of her favourite tenant with smiles and happy tears, but not before slapping him with a roll of newspapers and telling him not to do that ever again.

John was engaged to one lovely woman, Mary Morstan, during those two years, and whom Molly had had the pleasure of meeting and eventually calling a 'friend'; the blonde helped him out in that two years John was alone without Sherlock, and they became closer as their interactions became more frequent. When Sherlock came back, and found out about the engagement, Molly had expected a loud childish outburst of some sort, but instead he gave a soft, endearing smile to his best friend and said, "You deserved it". But not without a small amount of pouting from him beforehand.

Molly saw the changes between Sherlock's interactions with her too; he was more cautious over what he said after having deduced her for the day, which she knew was always out of habit, and was even more talkative now. He joked with her more than once, made banter with her, and she was having fun. She had boldly but nervously asked, once, when they were alone together in the lab late one night, whether the changes in their interaction was due to John leaving 221B and marrying Mary, and leaving him alone; understanding where she was going with that sentence, the old Sherlock would have merely huffed, rolled his eyes and declared that he was not one to feel that way. This Sherlock took his time to think, making Molly wonder for a while at that point when he stayed silent for more than three minutes whether he had even heard her, and then admitted that, yes, he found himself feeling a little empty every time he went out on cases without John. He was so used to their comfortable companionship that he was all too aware of its absence.

But he grudgingly admitted, as well, that Mary was someone who could keep John Watson on his toes and be a great life partner to him, and his best friend deserved the happiness he could get while he was still alive.

"That is alright, though – I still have the companionships of Mrs Hudson, George Lestrade, and you," he added with a small smile towards her.

Molly smiled to herself – if it was any more possible to love a man than it was to love Sherlock Holmes now, she would-

A loud crash sounded through her apartment and Molly widened her eyes. Before she could open her mouth to shout out 'what happened', she saw Toby desperately scurrying towards her and jumping into the empty space below the sink. If cats was able to show their terror on their little faces, she was certain Toby was wearing that expression now.

A second later, another figure came running in through the entrance of the kitchen, this time larger and wearing his 'game face' on. Molly gaped at how wild Sherlock's hair was, and how his eyes were bright with the anticipation of…what?

"Sherlock, what's going on?" she asked, putting down the spoon she was holding on to and approaching him.

"Where's Truffles?" he replied instead, his breaths coming in slow and deep now.

"Truffles? Oh, you mean Toby?"

"Yes, that – where is he?"

Molly forced herself not to glance at the direction of the sink; she had to know what this mad man was going on about with her cat – which was sick!

"Sherlock, Toby's sick! Why are you chasing him around?!" she exclaimed, glaring at the back of his curly head as he dropped down to his knees to search for the cat.

"Oh, nothing much," he said, waving her concerns away with a literal wave of a hand as he looked under the dining table. "Just wanted to give him something-"

"Oh my God, Sherlock – are you experimenting on my cat?!"

"No, no! I was just- Toby, here boy, Toby…"

"Toby won't respond to you, you know; he's not a dog."

"Then how would you normally get him out from under the sink?"

With that, he stood up and made his way to the sink. Toby looked up at him from his position and scuttled backwards. Molly moved forward, about to shove the huge man-child out of the way and rescue her cat, when she heard him mutter to Toby. He was saying it so softly, but Molly was able to catch a few words.

"…won't hurt you…benefit…don't worry…"

"What is it you're trying to give him?" Molly asked, frowning a little when Toby moved forward, albeit cautiously.

"It is supposed to be a surprise for you, but since Toby ran away from me, time for a change of plans."

With lightning reflexes, Sherlock scooped the cat up and out from under the sink, the cat mewling loudly in protest at first, but when Molly came into his line of sight and stroked him, hushing him gently and telling him he was okay, he reluctantly relaxed. "Here, let me have my cat; we'll settle on the sofa," she told Sherlock, who obeyed her, handing her Toby and moving to the living room.

"Seriously, Sherlock – whatever it was that you're trying to do, run it to me first before you go barrelling head-first into it?" Molly chided once they all were settled in, Molly sitting on the sofa with Toby on her lap while Sherlock on the other armchair without his scarf, gloves and coat. "Toby's sick, and I'm sure he doesn't appreciate being chased by mad men with wild hair."

"Toby's sick, so that is why," Sherlock answered, sitting forward in his chair and looking at the cat.

The pathologist stopped stroking her cat for a moment to look at the consulting detective seated somewhere on her right. "Sorry? What does Toby being sick have to do with anything?"

Sherlock leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers underneath his chin; closing his eyes, he divulged Molly with the reason why he was there, in her home, on her day off.

"I came over to Bart's yesterday afternoon to check on those cultures I had been doing – I required the results earlier than expected due to variable changes I have thought of – and it was not you in the lab that I saw; by the way, please apologise to Dr Ben for me for my…heated deductions when you next see him. I went to look for Mike and he said he got a call from you, saying Toby was sick, and that he granted you the afternoon and the next day off in favour of you taking care of your cat. I sent my homeless network to find out the veterinarian you went, and I went to get this."

Sherlock opened his eyes and unsteepled his fingers to dig into his dress pants' pocket to reveal a small bottle containing some fine granules. "Dr Kaitlyn, your veterinarian, is famous for her medication she prescribes to her patients not being effective at all; it has come to my attention that you would not want Toby to continue being sick for more than a day so I have enlisted the help of my contact to get me this brand of medication – very effective, compared to Dr Kaitlyn's; do not worry about her services, though – she's about to be visited by the local authorities in a day or two's time about the sources of her medication. But enough of her – now, Toby."

Sitting forward once more, he moved his hand to touch Toby while Molly merely stared at him. She had faith that Sherlock would truly not do nor give anything harmful to her cat, but he did drugged John once…

"Molly, you can trust me," he sighed, hand stilled mid-air. "And you too, Toby. I have no intentions of angering your owner today or any other day."

"You sure?"

"Molly, I trusted you with my life; the least you can do is trust me with your cat."

She was still looking at him cautiously, but allowed Sherlock to come closer to an apprehensive but tired Toby; watching him feed Toby the medication, she noted how gentle he was at handling him. After a few seconds, he withdrew and pocketed the bottle as she stroked her cat. Settling back down in his chair, he said, "Toby should be fine by the end of the day."

"Well, thank you," Molly smiled. Seeing that Toby was lying placid on her lap, she figured he would be more comfortable on his basket in her bedroom so, excusing herself for a moment, she carried her cat to her bedroom and settled him in his basket. He mewled softly before snuggling into his bed.

"Sherlock, is that really why you're here?" Molly asked as she exited her bedroom. Would he come over to her home just to help speed up her cat's recovery? That seemed odd, even for Sherlock.

"No, not really."

"Aha. So there is a body part in the mix, isn't there?"

"No, no body parts or cultures in mind, Molly – didn't I say I did not come here for experiments and work?"

"Then what for?" Molly replied, tilting her head to one side. Sherlock was being a little too…odd indeed.

"Isn't Valentine's Day a day where people ensure the continued happiness with each other?" he asked in response, frowning directly at her.

"What does Valentine's Day have to do with medication for Toby?"

"He's sick, so you're not exactly jumping for joy at the moment. All I want was to make sure he recovers, and in the process for you to be happier. Thus, Valentine's Day. Right?"

Molly was not sure whether to laugh or shake her head, but at the genuinely confused puppy look he was giving her (that look always got to her), she opted to just raise an eyebrow. "Do you know what the general concept of Valentine's Day is?"

"John told me once, long ago, that it's a day where people express care and concern to those they like, and I find it redundant because it doesn't make sense to dedicate a day to such happiness when logically speaking, it should be every day of every month of every year that one ensures the continued happiness of the people they like."

"Hmm…well, there's the other, more popular, meaning of Valentine's Day, and there are a lot of heart shapes and chocolates and love involved."

"Ah, yes – that too. But I prefer to think of this day as a day what one would do to express, like I said, care and concern. Though I still think it should be done everyday and not on one measly day."

Molly gave a lopsided smile to the seated man as he ruffled his hair in slight discomfort. "So, you giving Toby that medication to ensure his speedy recovery so that I would be happier – did we just celebrate your idea of Valentine's Day?"

Sherlock shot her a withered look, mouth pursed tightly. "Wasn't that obvious?"

Molly chuckled out loud and sat down on her sofa, with Sherlock rolling his eyes at her laughter. Said laughter soon subsidised and she gazed at the other person in her apartment. "Thank you. For your care and concern. Toby and I – we appreciate it."

Sherlock cleared his throat uncomfortably before replying, "Not a problem."

Silence reigned in the apartment for a few minutes before Molly widened her eyes and gasped. "Oh God, I forgot about the tea!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up to her mouth before getting up from the sofa.

It was Sherlock's turn to chuckle, and Molly took a moment to revel in its richness, on how deep and gravelly it sounded. Just like his voice.

"That is of no worry, Molly. We can go over to that new tea shop that opened four blocks away; I overheard Glen talking about the tea there, and I have yet to experience how good he claims it is."

Molly stopped moving and gave him a small smile. "Glen? You made a new friend?"

"You know him, Molly! From Scotland Yard?!"

"Oh, you mean Greg."

"Yes, that."

Rolling her eyes, she watched as Sherlock Holmes gracefully got up from his seat and began wearing his things – putting on his gloves before tying that blue scarf around his neck, and finally donning his signature Belstaff. "So you're leaving now?" she said with a smile.

"Yes, we are," he answered with a raised eyebrow directed at her. "The tea shop closes at about six-thirty in the evening, after all; I don't wish to be wasting any more time."

"Hold on, 'we'? You mean, I can- I'm going with-"

"Toby can hold his own alone at home, can't he? It's still Valentine's Day – I don't think we're done celebrating it, and it's a full-day occasion, right?"

Nodding as if she understood what he said, when in reality her head was screaming _YES YES YAAAY OMG NO WAY_, Molly padded to her bedroom to retrieve her keys, wallet and phone; stuffing them into a small clutch bag, she turned to see Toby blinking up at her. She bent down to scratch him behind the ear and Toby closed his eyes at the familiar comfort it gave. "I'll be out with Sherlock, okay, celebrating…Valentine's Day," she murmured. "God, that sounded weird, but it's true! I mean, it's not Valentine's Day per se – he certainly viewed it way differently from others, and-"

"Molly, when you're done talking to Toby about our date, we can move along now."

"Whoops, uhh," Molly stuttered, then let out a soft laugh. "Anyway, I better be off now – don't want Sherlock to be waiting and grow grumpy; we all know what happened the last time, right?"

Toby mewled in response as Molly gave him one last scratch. "Take care, little buddy; I'll be back soon!"

She grabbed her coat hanging behind her bedroom door as she went out, and saw Sherlock leaning by her doorknob, pulling on an irritated face. "Geez, I wasn't in there for hours, okay?" she teased, pushing him off her door and out her home.

As she locked her door, Sherlock huffed out loud. "It seemed so," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"So, we're off…?" Molly said unsurely, looking up at him.

"Off on our date, you can say that, yes," he answered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Why would you call it – this – a date?" she asked again, pulling on her coat but having difficulty doing so, what with the hand clutch she was holding onto hindering her movements.

Sherlock helped her out by slipping her arms in the sleeves. "Because John said it is when two people like each other. Isn't it, or am I mistaken?"

Stopping in her movements, Molly stared up at Sherlock, her face flushing at the close proximity between them. But then she decided on a whim to be a bit bolder, and leaned up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his lovely Cupid bow's lips. "No, uh, you're not mistaken," she assured him, giving a grin before moving away.

"I think it's that direction," she was saying, looking out to the streets once they were outside. "I heard people talking about a shop opening about three blocks away from here, but I don't know whether it's that tea shop."

Molly continued to talk about its possible location for a few seconds, not noticing that Sherlock was behind her, gazing at her small form bundled in a coat two to three sizes too big for her, with a soft smile on his face.


End file.
